


Tangled Ivy

by shortsight



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Deleted Scenes, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortsight/pseuds/shortsight
Summary: When Minho finds Newt in the maze, hurt with a nasty, twisted leg but with no clear reason why.( Minho saves Newt from an attempt to leave the maze. )
Relationships: Minho & Newt (Maze Runner), Minho/Newt (Maze Runner)
Kudos: 45





	Tangled Ivy

**Author's Note:**

> so uh,, since i miss them i decided to re-write this scene that was DELETED from the movie for some reason- i have no braincells left so here you go hahaha lazy writing go bRRRR

It was evening when Minho heard the faintest wail, echoing off the maze walls.

At first he didn’t think much about it, passed it off as a griever, until another, quieter but similar one followed close, then another. It had to be one of runners, right? Minho  
sighed, looking back at the large number plastered on the stone wall in front of him, 5, and got swiftly onto his feet again, gaining speed, stabilizing rhythm in his feet and breath, and started to run out of his section. 

Some idiot probably fell, the boy thought to himself. Was it Ben? Or Nick? Minho remembered quite clearly when the two got assigned their sections, right at the beginning of the day. Ben had 4, Nick had 6. 

Instinct told him to just stop, turn back and head back to the glade, with the sun casting an orange glow across the sky. With one look at his watch, he could tell that the walls would be closing in no more than an hour. And if he wanted to be back to actually get his hands on some of Frypan’s stew instead of the pot getting cleaned out by hungry gladers (which he thought was extremely unfair), he’d better be getting back. But he had a job, a duty to make sure everyone was safe in the maze, so even if some idiot did fall, chances are they’d have trouble running back. 

Minho’s feet created a thumping sound on the stone floor with each step, creating a steady rhythm that lined up with his breathing. It had taken a lot of practice to get this rhythm right, but the constant worry of danger rising up in his chest started to slowly and surely mess it up. Questions drifted around in his head, each one worse than the other. What if there’s grievers? What if they attacked them? What if they’re dead? After all, the sun was coming down, and Minho didn’t want to be trapped out here for the night. If he was gonna get to whoever just hurt themselves, he had to make it as quick as possible. The dark haired boy looked over to his left, eyeing the pieces of ivy thrown on the ground, acting as checkpoints. His feet went over to kick them to the side every time, discarding them from the center of the path. Walls, maps and all sorts of turns flashed inside of his head as he made his way around every single corner. Blood rushed in his ears.

Chances are that everyone else had already returned to the glade, waiting for the Keeper to return. It would’ve made an embarrassing feat if Minho was really, last to get back, when he had been the one who was constantly coaxing everyone to arrive back early. But at least he had a good excuse, right? 

Well, then again― the wail could’ve been nothing. And he would’ve made a fool out of himself.

With each step he felt himself get closer and closer to a blank equation. Minho didn’t know where the sound even came from, somewhere to the right― but he couldn’t pinpoint it, even after hearing it a couple times. Minutes passed and he felt as if he was just wasting time, running around in the maze like a headless chicken trying to find a piece of corn. Doubt arose in his chest, and suddenly― he started to contemplate his actions. There weren't any more wails or screams, and the sun was growing dangerously close to setting. A check to his watch confirmed that. He had spent a while running around, trying to find an injured person― good thing he kept track of where he was going. At least he wasn’t lost.

Until he heard another sound. This time he would’ve missed it if it weren’t for himself finally slowing now, bending over to catch his breath and take a small break from all the running. The same voice― the same dismantled, unstable, hurt and weak voice, layered all with a thick accent. Only with one word, “help”. The voice that Minho was all too familiar with, ever since he arrived in the glade as a pathetic greenie. In surprise, Minho did a double take, because he had really thought that it was his imagination before whipping his head over to the source of the sound. It was to his right, and it didn’t sound so far away as it was earlier, when he had been in section 5. But it still sounded like a long way, and with a glance over to the direction of the glade, he knew that it would be risky to be going back into the maze and then trying to return to the glade in a short amount of time. It would be way too risky. Minho didn’t remember the last time he was in such a rush to get back to the glade. 

But he couldn’t really leave his friend out here, could he?

As soon as the thought left his mind, Minho got back on his feet, running. 

It was a series of turns, a long way to go. “Newt?” Minho called out, letting the echo bounce off the stone walls, hoping in his heart for a response. And then, he got one. 

“Minho―”

It was so, so simple, but the word made him gain just a bit more speed, with the adrenaline pumping, telling him to just hurry up. Hurry up!

Right. Left. Left. Right. Right. Straight up ahead. 

As much as he was focused in the situation, luckily he hadn’t forgotten to remember what routes he took. Straight up ahead. Almost there. Minho found himself repeating words in his head, coaxing himself into going faster and faster. 

And then, as soon as he made it― the runner stopped in his tracks for a second or two as soon as he spotted his friend. His friend, motionless on the stone ground of the maze, lower body and arms wrapped in thick ropes of ivy, dangling off the walls slightly and draped over Newt. His face was turned away from Minho, towards the wall, but from the small, dismantled sounds the blond boy was making, he knew that Newt was hurt. Hurt enough to not be able to get up. And from looking at the ivy, chances are that Newt must’ve fallen and caught himself in it on the way. But one look to the wall that the ivy had been dangling from― Minho knew that no one was supposed to be going up to a wall that high. They had no reason to― the wall didn’t go anywhere. But enough of his mind rambling, he had to go get Newt and get back to the glade, as soon as possible. Minho couldn’t let them get trapped out here, not when Newt was this injured.

“Jesus―” Minho’s eyes darted from the ivy to Newt’s face as he kneeled down beside him. Finally the other boy’s head slowly rolled back, to look up at Minho. One look and Minho knew that he couldn’t manage words right now. So he simply just nodded, loosening and shrugging off his runner’s pack. The knife, strapped firmly at the back of the pack, smoothly slid out of the band of leather, tightly held in Minho’s hand. And he started to work on the vines, efficiently cutting them one by one, rushing to throw the broken ones off to the side to detangle the mess of ivy. Newt didn’t talk, didn’t move, only made small, whimpering and groaning sounds as the sound of a sharp knife cutting disappeared into the open air. 

Minho almost let out a breath of victory when the last pieces of ivy was cut, until his eyes settled onto a large, red wound on the other boy’s left leg. Minho let out a wince at the sight of the blood. Some of it had dried, but it looked like there was still leftover fresh blood. And not only the wound, Newt’s leg looked like it had been severely damaged. It was twisted this way and that, only slightly hidden by the dark brown pants he was wearing. After one look at the injury, Minho rushed to his runner’s pack and moved his hand over everything to finally find a cloth that was stuffed into one of the pockets. The cloth was supposed to act as something to wipe away sweat that formed under the beaming sunlight, but now, he had much more important use for it, despite beads of sweat currently rolling down his tanned olive skin. Grabbing the cloth by each side, Minho wrapped the white fabric around the wound, tightening it as he was finished (resulting in a pained whine from Newt).

“No more running for you, huh?” Minho broke the unnerving silence, looking down to look into Newt’s brown eyes for a quick second to make sure he was okay. Well, he wasn’t. Or at least, not really. And maybe it was a bad time to be making a light-hearted joke. As soon as Newt was all fixed up with and untangled, Minho realized that Newt couldn’t even sit up, let alone run back to the glade. Newt’s condition was horrible at the moment― so Minho realized that there was probably only one way that they could maybe get back to the glade in time, together.

Grabbing one of Newt’s arms and sliding an arm under to support Newt’s back, Minho hoisted the other boy up until he got into a sitting position. “C’mon slinthead, you can―” a few pained whines and disgruntled moans echoed, “―you can get up.” 

After that, there was a ton of stumbling, struggling to hoist Newt up into a doable position, some way to get the both of them back to the glade in one piece. Dragging was an option, and the first idea that popped into his head, but it wouldn’t be ideal. He knew Newt wouldn’t prefer being dragged across the maze floor, with all the bugs, dirt and rocks scattered on the floor. The second idea was holding Newt’s shoulder up to help him walk, but the thought was quickly discarded because of the fact that the other boy wasn’t able to walk in any way. So Minho came down to one solution, he would have to carry Newt on his back.

It was the logical solution. They’d move so much faster if Newt was being carried, and time was getting too close, too soon to the closing. So as soon as Minho got Newt on his back, he started to move.

Of course, it started slow at first― stumbles and grunts, curse words flying out of mouths (mostly Minho’s), nothing seemed to be working but after a few seconds Minho finally found his balance, only staggering with every turn. It was nowhere close to the running speed that he would usually be at, but with the weight on his shoulders, it was good enough. Good enough to perhaps get back to the glade in time. He could only hope. With twists and turns and counting ivy next to the walls Minho looked, and watched, and jogged, eyes and ears alert at all times for any kind of danger. If they ran into a griever, he didn’t know what he’d do. Newt was quiet on his back, arms slung forward to loosely cling around Minho’s sweat covered neck. He was awake, but Minho could tell that he was in a lot of pain right now. With each stagger and stumble he felt Newt jolt and wince, like telling Minho to be careful. Minho apologized everytime, as he couldn’t do anything about it. 

The trip was agonizingly slow― everytime when Minho had thought he had the ability to just go a little faster, the weight on his back started slipping and he had to start all over again. Of course he couldn’t blame it on Newt. He wouldn’t. Never in a million years would Minho let Newt out here to die.

And it was like that, all the way for what seemed like a million miles. But Minho knew that they were close. They were almost there. Along the way he whispered encouraging words, hoping that Newt could hear them, even if he was asleep. 

As soon as Minho caught a glance of the familiar hallway that led straight to the glade, he smiled.

“Almost there, right up ahead,” Minho panted, scrabbling for more words than the ones he’s repeated several times before.

Step by step, he picked up speed, knowing that the glade was just so, so close. His heart slowly came down from hammering against his chest along the whole trip. The stress went away slowly but surely, and Minho could feel himself let out a breath of relief when the glade’s entrance came into view. Suddenly he felt as if a whole world’s weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, even though he had still been carrying weight on his back. Minho looked up at the two Runners who looked like they had been waiting, but instead of looking happy and relieved that they'd returned, they both had distinct frowns on their faces, matched with knitted eyebrows, full of worry. Minho didn’t know what was going on, he was confused. They looked as if a griever had been right behind them, ready to attack, but with one look behind him he knew that wasn’t true.

.. until he heard a rumble.

The rumble of the walls.

He realized the walls were starting to close.

Panic arose in his throat, clasping around him like he couldn’t breathe. Though it wasn’t as far of a way to go if he just hurried the hell up, Minho felt as if it was the end of the world already. A choir of “hurry”s and “quick”s sounded from the other side, frantic arm gestures swinging through the air, and it wasn’t long before seeing Alby arrive, pushing past all the others and taking sight of Minho and Newt. 

“Hurry up! Get back here now!” Alby screamed.

At that moment, Minho started to move.

He ran as fast as he could at the moment, with a huge weight on his back. Eyes were glared right towards the glade, at the green grass laying on the other side. It’s so close. It’s so close. Minho whispered to himself, his teeth gritting in panic. He could hear the blood thumping in his ears, the adrenaline pumping in his veins, the panic grabbing at his throat. If he wasn’t going to make it in time, he made a mental plan to throw Newt into the glade before getting crushed by the stone maze walls. But it couldn’t come down to that. He wouldn’t let it come down to that.

Jesus― shuck the rules, come help me already!

When the walls closed in unbearably tight, and Minho thought it was all over, he felt strong hands grip his arms and pull him forwards, ever so quickly. Before he could open his eyes, comprehend what was happening, he landed face down onto the grass, feeling the weight behind him disappear. The sharp grass dug into his skin uncomfortably, causing Minho to curse through gritted teeth. Not long after he opened his eyes, relieved to be looking at the familiar sight of the glade again. There was no one beside him, no one helping him to get up, but Minho didn’t care. He could get up himself, after nearly being crushed by two stone walls. But as he got up on his knees he quickly turned around, letting out another breath of relief to see Newt on the ground beside him― wincing and rolling in pain, but still, alive. Minho got to relax for a few seconds, kneeling on the ground with his knuckles holding him up. He took the time to catch his breath, watching as Clint and Jeff carried Newt off, which Minho assumed that they were going to take care of him. 

And like the first day he arrived, Minho had a million questions going off in his head. But he decided to ask them when Newt was at least relaxed and conscious. Standing up and brushing the dust and dirt off of his pants, he relaxed. Ben and Nick started to bombard Minho with questions and statements, usually along the lines of “what happened”, “are you okay?” and “is Newt okay?” Minho ignored them, walking off to the Homestead to catch his breath. Visiting Newt right now wasn’t an option clearly― Clint and Jeff never allowed anyone in unless they were injured or sick.

Alby caught up to him quickly, walking beside him. “What happened back there, Minho?” He was expecting to be bombarded by questions like the others did, but surprisingly, that was the only one. 

Minho stopped in his tracks and turned to face Alby, eyes dark and tired. “What’d it look like, slinthead? Newt got hurt.” He paused. “Leg’s pretty bad― should probably start lookin’ for a new Runner.” He never really paid much attention to the details. The boy could already expect the next question that Alby would’ve asked him, so he answered it for him. “I don’t know what happened. Just found him.” His voice was quiet and low, preventing anyone else to listen in. Out of everything that happened today, Minho was definitely not expecting this. And he still had a lot to think about― so he wasn’t in the mood to do any more talking. Before Alby could open his mouth for another word, Minho interrupted.

"Fun day, yeah?”


End file.
